← v1n1, Spring 2002
Poetry · Volume 1, Number 1

What the Deaf Long to Hear

We might have predicted,

those of us who eavesdrop

every day on the world

desire to listen

to a daughter's fetal heartbeat,

or the practical

need to know

when to shift

to a higher gear.

Even the Moonlight

Sonata, wanting

notes of music to fall

into a life ghostly

as reflections from deep

in space. But would we ever

have thought

that on this earth

someone aches

to know for herself

the rest of the story

wind tells birch trees,

the syntax

of the splitting

maul, wrenched

out of chainsawed rounds,

the voice of fire

as it casts its spell

on cold skin,

punctuation

of popcorn,

how to know

when anything is

signaling,

ready, done.

Someone aches

to know

what clue

tells others

she's hungry

for the difference

in sound when surf

breaks, when a heart

lurches, when water heals

after swallowing

a diver.